WARNING: brief suicidal kinda stuff arises here, if that especially bothers you it shouldn't be too bad but just be on the look out for that. Also violence.
Right so we're entering a very Dean-lite portion of the story here, which shouldn't last too long but I do apologise to those of you who are only here for the actual destiel. This is actual Castiel instead and I loved writing it soooo much (sorry Dean) but yeah, Dean's not really playing much of a role right now. He will be back and destiel will rule this fic again, some day soon.
I did research stuff writing this but I didn't re-watch any of season 9 so I may have missed some crucial point, idk. I know I've definitely screwed up timelines. I don't care a whole lot tbh, this is already canon divergent.
Up to date with the show and whilst I adored the Asa Fox episode (I need those hunter twins and Asa's bitchy mum to be back on the show ASAP) I was frustrated by 'Rock Never Dies'. Why is Cas so crappy and weak now? Where was Cas's sexy leather jacket? Why the fuck is he still wearing that fucking coat? ARRRRGHHHHHH anyway whatever, it's nice that Jensen and Danneel have had their ridiculously named, genetically blessed twins :)

By the time I find a store to purchase the specific easily washed off paint that Dean insists is the only kind I'm allowed to apply to the Impala, it's sunset. I paint the warding on from memory, shining the light of my phone from an angle to see the black markings. I notice that my phone needs charging and I plug it in as I carefully begin daubing banishing sigils in my blood on either side of the motel room. It's an unpleasant process; I have to slice into my forearm three times to get it done, as my blood keeps clotting too fast. It's frustrating how hard it is to cut into my own flesh as a human. The instincts and the pain are almost insurmountable at first.

I bandage up my arm with a sigh of relief when I complete two banishing sigils on either side of the room, dutifully taking two painkillers with water. I'm not used to dealing with human sensation under stress and I don't want to be compromised because I'm slightly wounded. I place a gun under my pillow and a spare angel blade from the Impala's trunk in the bathroom drawer, keeping my own blade tucked into the back of my jeans under my shirts. I stand in the centre of the room, eyes darting around, trying to remember if I've forgotten anything. I scroll back through the texts from Dean listing what I need to do. Everything is accounted for.

Taking a slow and shaky breath, I stand between the door and one of the banishing sigils and I begin to pray.

It's a bizarre feeling. I prayed to God as an angel, but praying to my father felt different from praying to the entire angelic host as a human. I keep my prayer vague, not mentioning my identity. I speak out loud to strengthen it.

"I am calling on the fallen angels of Heaven. I need help. I am under threat and I need the assistance of an angel. I know you exist, I know you have been hurt, but I also know that you can hear me. Please, come to my aid. Please help me."

I pause and wonder if that will be enough. Leaning against the wall, I watch as the digital bedside clock flickers its way through ten minutes before I decide to repeat the prayer.

"I require assistance. Br- angels of Heaven who now walk the Earth, please, hear me and come to my aid."

Swallowing, I hope fervently that no one listening realised that I was about to say 'brothers and sisters'. I wait just five minutes this time, fiddling with my sleeve, before launching into my spiel again.

"I call upon any angel who can hear me to come and help me. I am praying directly to those who fell from Heaven. I know you exist. I know what… Metatron did. I need the help of a real angel, not just spiritual guidance. I need whoever is hearing this to come and aid me in person."

Hopefully mentioning Metatron will pique the curiosity of anyone listening. I'm painfully aware that many angels must have heard at least rumours that I've become human, meaning that I've all but revealed my identity for anyone looking to join the clues together. I can only hope that I'm not as hated as I suspect.

Another ten minutes creeps by.

"Angels of Heaven-"

There is a firm knock at the door.

My voice dies in my throat as I freeze, gazing unblinking at the opposite wall. The angel sigil there is hidden behind the sliding bathroom door. The one beside me, however, will be plainly seen if I close the door once my visitor is in the room. I suddenly wonder if this was a wise way to set it up. Visibly treating whoever answers my prayer as a threat isn't conducive to establishing an alliance. How can this have only occurred to me now?

The person at the door knocks again.

I push off from the wall and grip the door handle, heart jumping uncomfortably. Blinking hard, I pull the door halfway open, peering out warily.

A nondescript middle-aged, paunchy man of vague, possibly Indian ethnicity stands outside, eyes narrowed in what looks like suspicion. We stare at each other for several seconds and I hate the fact that I can't tell in the slightest whether he's human or angel. He quickly solves the mystery for me, though, in a cold and detached voice.

"Hello. I've come to answer your prayer."

I swallow and nod. "Yes. Thank you for coming."

The angel nods once and steps forward, clearly expecting me to move aside. I do so, feeling deeply uneasy. How could I have expected to just know whether to trust the angel who answered my prayer? I have no way to tell at all. The newcomer halts in the centre of my room, casting a glance around before swinging back to face me. Taking a deep breath, I shut the door, revealing the banishing sigil. The angel's eyebrows raise in surprise.

"You know a lot about us, for a human," he comments mildly, assessing me with bright brown eyes. I shrug.

"I know that I need help, and only an angel can do what I need."

"Which is?"

I shake my head silently. "Who are you, first of all? Tell me your name, tell me how things have been for you since the fall, who you were before the fall."

He frowns at me. "None of that would mean much to a human."

"Humour me."

"I came here to offer you help, and I find that you have set up defences as though I am your enemy. Now you demand that I prove myself to you. Why should I help you?"

My stomach clenches. Everything he's saying is perfectly reasonable, and I don't want to jeopardise this chance at securing help for Sam, but this angel's reluctance to be open with me is putting me even more on edge than I already was. I shuffle a step away from the banishing sigil and my companion's eyes zero in on the movement, a sharp spark of interest showing. My stomach clenches harder. I abruptly decide that I will not share who I am with this angel. I don't wish to lie outright if it can be helped, though. I choose my next words carefully.

"I know enough about angels to be cautious. But I do not wish to be your enemy. Now, please… your name?"

He pauses before answering. "Ezekiel."

My eyes narrow. "Impossible."

For an instant, his mouth tightens, but he only looks amused a moment later. "Oh? How so?"

I can't say that I know Ezekiel already; I don't want to give anything of myself away to this stranger now that he's lied. Inching back towards the banishing sigil, I shake my head. "Never mind how I know that you're lying. The fact remains, you are not Ezekiel."

He nods slowly. "Impressive. You've been keeping tabs on us since the fall, then. Very well, my true name is Raziel. How did you learn of Ezekiel's death?"

"Raziel," I repeat, trying to remember whether I knew him in Heaven-

Death.

Ezekiel's death?

"Ezekiel's death," I repeat hollowly. Raziel nods. I shake my head but then pause. He could be lying again. Or he could be telling the truth, and we may have been living with an impostor all this time. With a growing sense of horror, I realise that I've always felt that Ezekiel has become a stranger since I last knew him. What if I've felt that way because he really has been a stranger all along? I gather myself and decide that clinging to murky honesty is pointless and foolish. I'm going to have to admit who I am and risk attack, or lie outright. I opt for the latter.

"I was once possessed by an angel. They were banished from me and I memorised the sigil, which is how I knew to recreate it tonight. They left some sort of channel open when they left, a link. I hear things. Snatches of angelic communication. I heard the fall. I heard reports of Ezekiel's death too."

It's not something that I'm aware of as possible, but even angels know very little about what can occur during possession since it never used to be a common thing for many of us to do. It sounds believable enough to me. Raziel nods, a furrow between his brows, watching me closely.

"Fascinating. Alright. I will help you, in whatever you require. Come, sit with me. Tell me what I can do for you."

He settles calmly on the end of my bed, hands clasped in his lap. He looks entirely non-threatening, but I feel ill with anxiety at the thought of moving away from my banishing sigil. Still, vague recollections of Raziel are coming back to me. He was a friend of Bartholomew's and Bartholomew followed me during the civil war. I didn't necessarily like Bartholomew, but he was a good soldier and leader and if Raziel is one of his, I can probably trust him. I trusted Bartholomew, after all. I step away from the banishing sigil and begin to make my way across the room in front of Raziel, eyes fixed on him, trying to look more relaxed than I feel as I settle into leaning against the counter opposite him, hands resting by my hips.

"Raziel," I begin, then pause, deciding to give him one last test. "I've heard tell of the civil war up in Heaven, the fall of Raphael. Did you fight for him?"

"For Raphael?" Raziel says, looking amused once more. "Of course not. I served under my leader and good friend Bartholomew, and together we fought for the rebel angel Castiel."

I swallow and nod thoughtfully, as though this is new information. "I see. And Castiel… is he dead too?"

Raziel stands smoothly, still smiling faintly, the expression almost warm. I tense up as he steps towards me and in the corner of my eye, I see his fingers twitch.

"Not yet," he says, and then he lunges forward, angel blade appearing in his out-thrust fist. I throw myself sideways and cry out as the blade slices shallowly through my side, hot blood immediately soaking my shirt at my waist, equally hot pain coursing through me. I stagger to the bathroom door and turn to see Raziel advancing on me with his teeth bared, feral and furious, blade gleaming red in the lamplight. Breathing hard with tears stinging my eyes, I step back beside the door, leaning against the wall. Raziel is stalking me, clearly not seeing this as a fight so much as an execution.

"Why?" I snarl, feeling the pain of betrayal and anger just as keenly as the pain of a knife wound. Raziel sneers.

"Why? Try to guess why. I imagine you are more than capable of understanding how it feels to have fallen from Heaven, Castiel. No one has fallen further than you. But you couldn't do it alone, hmm? You had to drag the rest of us into your mistakes too. Now all of Heaven is suffering, because we are not Heaven any more. You've made refugees of us all. You used to be a hero! I used to think I had honour fighting under your name, back when it was worth something, but this will be the greatest honour. Giving you the fate you deserve. If you had any honour yourself, you'd have done the job already."

I press my lips together, aching, and for a moment I wonder why the hell I haven't done as Raziel is suggesting and finished myself off already. I deserve it. Raziel deserves to do it. I should be dead anyway.

But then he lunges again, and Dean's face flashes across my mind, and I realise why I'm still alive. It's simple. I don't want to die.

I duck sideways, slamming the bathroom door closed as I move, gritting my teeth against the protesting wound in my side. I can hear Raziel close behind me and I'm amazed that I don't feel the angel blade sinking into my back even as I flatten my palm against the dried banishing sigil on the wall, watching it glow and ignite, hearing Raziel's shout of fury and frustration close enough to turn my stomach. But he's gone even as I squint back over my shoulder, the blinding light dimming and leaving nothing but an empty room in its wake.

I turn my face back to the wall and try to take a deep breath but my knees buckle, to my shock and dismay. I scrabble weakly at the wall as I sink to the floor, finding it harder and harder to draw breath until I hear myself let out a ragged sob. Bunching my ruined shirt at my cut waist, I press my forehead to the wall and screw my eyes shut, trying to keep the low sound from bubbling up in my throat again. It doesn't work.

Between the distressing pain in my side and the tears streaming down my face as I fight for control against a scuffed motel room wall, I barely notice my phone vibrate in my pocket as it receives a text message. What I have far more trouble overlooking, though, is the firm knock at the door, followed by a voice speaking words that I now wish I'd never heard this evening:

"Hello? I've come to answer your prayer."